


Charred Mask

by Chiroptach



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Disfigurement, Disturbing Themes, M/M, Murder, movie and comics, unstable roman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23647477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiroptach/pseuds/Chiroptach
Summary: A request from a lovely anon on Tumblr, for a Zsaszmask fic where Roman has to kill Victor. I went for a situation where in spite of his tendency towards not killing himself that Roman takes it in to his own hands. Also tried to bridge the gap between BOP Roman and the more usual comics Roman through the standard Black Mask origin story.Feel free to send me requests, here or on Tumblr.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	Charred Mask

Black Mask woke up, for the first time. He was wearing next to nothing, in bed next to a faceless corpse. That was interesting. Roman would normally panic about the bloodstained sheets or the corpse being so near to him, or the way blood stained him from head to toe but somehow it felt more natural. But he wasn’t exactly Roman anymore. He got up, stretched, and looked around the room. Another two faceless corpses. Unsurprising. He walked to the bathroom, almost starting off as he always did, washing his face. He looked in to the mirror. Of course. His mask melted in to his face. What a night. He got a drink of water and walked back to the hall. How the hell had this happened? He sighed, got himself a cup of coffee, and tried to sort through the arrangement of odd memories left over from Roman. 

Anything else. Absolutely anything else. Had it been anything else then he wouldn’t have to. It was the last thing he wanted to do. But simply put, it was absolutely necessary. He picked at the sides of the mask obsessively, blood dribbling down the sides of his face. Roman was tempted to grab the sides of it and try to rip it straight off. But it wouldn’t come off. It wasn’t coming off ever again. He had bloodied his fingernails already trying to claw it off.

First he ran. He ran as fast and far as he possibly could, knowing damn well if the bat caught up with him there would be no mercy. In that moment he hadn’t felt the pain, running half the distance as it was still melting into his skin. Then he clawed. Roman grasped the mask and yanked, his skin tearing away with it. That and the subsequent blood gushing down his neck had stopped him, and in his fear he pressed it back on to his face. He couldn’t breath. He couldn’t even breath. He had a pen, a custom pen he intended to use for a business meeting later that night. He stabbed it through his own throat, in a botched attempt at a tracheotomy. He called Victor. He called the doctor he had on staff, refusing to go in. It would just get him arrested. He called Victor again as he waited, hands tearing in to his pants. His vision was blurred and he didn’t know if it was tears dripping down his face or if it was melted flecks of the mask. He couldn’t say anything, nothing coherent. He couldn’t move his jaw without instant agony. When he tried to explain the happenings to the doctor, tears dripped down his face. The doctor’s horror was obvious despite his inability to see. 

If Victor had said another word wrong, that could be forgiven. Hell, lost another diamond, lost another job, lost him hundreds of thousands of dollars. Any of that could be forgiven. But Victor hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been there when Roman needed him  _ most.  _ He  _ needed  _ Victor. He needed him so badly. If Victor had been there, he wouldn’t have lost his fucking face. He would never have let a doctor claw melted chunks of mask out of his ears. He could hear. He could see. He could talk. That had fucking hurt. 

“I am so sorry,” the doctor said, almost crying himself. “I am so sorry, Mr. Sionis, but I have to do this. I have to do this so you can speak-  _ please  _ don’t kill me.  _ Please,  _ Mr. Sionis. I’m doing this only to save you-  _ please  _ know I’m doing this only for you.” The doctor took a scalpel and a saw and went to work. Roman couldn’t even see what he did, but he felt the scalpel pierce his lip as it was jammed through the teeth of the mask.”Please, move your lips back Mr. Sionis,” the doctor begged, moving the scalpel back. Roman did. The doctor put the scalpel back in the hole between the teeth. He carved slowly and surely, till there was enough space that Roman could breath through it. The doctor went to work on his throat after that, deciding it was the second most important thing. He saw Victor in the corner of his eye then. Victor flinched for just a moment. He fell to his knees and grasped Roman’s hand, rubbing it. “Please, Mr. Zsasz, I have to take care of him-”

“Do it! Fucking do it!”

“Please move Mr. Zsasz,” the doctor weaped. Victor hovered over him protectively for a moment, then ran off to yell at the staff who were supposed to be with Roman that night while Victor had been at some stupid thing Roman told him to do. Victor yelled in a way Roman had never heard him yell in his whole life. The doctor started to mess with the sides of his mask, before moving for a moment. Roman just stared at the ceiling. Then the doctor came back, with pain medication. Mostly interveinal. Two IVs at once. The doctor sawed at the sides of his mask, hit his face, and Roman didn’t even care. He didn’t complain. It was alright. He expected to cry more, to rage more, something  _ more.  _ But he was deathly calm. It was cathartic, almost. He realized what the doctor had been doing when he opened his mouth completely. The doctor gave him even more pain medication. So much. So many pills, so much in his arms. He was deathly numb, and couldn’t focus enough to hear. 

“Roman?” asked Victor, hushed voice just close enough for him to hear. 

“Black Mask,” he insisted. Then he blacked out. 

The first corpse was the doctor. He was sat in the red room, the one his mask normally stayed in. He supposed that room didn’t have much purpose anymore. Victor came to his side, and grasped his shoulders. They were alone.

“It’s gonna be alright, Roman,” Victor said. He couldn’t feel Victor rubbing his shoulders, but he knew he was doing it. 

“Black Mask,” he insisted once more. Victor didn’t even pause.

“It’s gonna be alright, Black Mask, I’m here.” 

“Victor, you’re gonna go get that doctor, you’re gonna get the guy who was supposed to be on watch for me tonight, a bottle of our best wine, as much coke as possible, every blade we own, and a nail gun. Then you’re gonna meet me in our bedroom.” Roman locked eyes with Victor. Victor lit up like New York on Christmas Eve. Roman had never seen him so excited. Victor kissed him where his lips had been, kissing his mask like it was his face, before darting off to get Black Mask what he demanded. 

He studied his mask intently. His vision had cleared slightly, but he had come to terms with the idea that it wouldn’t be perfect. That was fine. He rubbed his hands over it. Tears fell numbly down his face, dripping emotionlessly. No more face. No more masks. He had worn a mask for his whole life. He barely remembered anything in his childhood, and had taken to learning his character from tabloid magazines. He had been dropped on his head as a child. He’d heard his parents were paying off people to never speak of it before they even picked him up off the ground, and it wouldn’t surprise him at all. There were more rumors that graced the tabloids, but one of the ones that irked him particularly and had stuck with him was the idea that as soon as his features started to become defined his parents had whisked him away to a plastic surgeon to fix his face. That had bothered him most during his stint as a model and in the odd hours of the night when he looked at himself in the mirror. He had never been able to confirm or deny it. It didn’t matter any more. Plastic surgery couldn’t fix the mess before him. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to. It was relieving almost. Sure his face had been a huge waste of money, but now he was free. It was gone. As ironic as it was, the mask was finally off. 

After the doctor and the guy who was supposed to watch his back were finished off, Black Mask and Mr. Zsasz headed to bed. Well, Victor did. Black Mask woke up. He was feeling again. Feeling absolutely horrible. A twisting feeling in his gut. Anything else. Absolutely anything else. Had it been anything else then he wouldn’t have to. It was the last thing he wanted to do. But simply put, it was absolutely necessary. Victor let him down in an unforgivable way. If Victor had been there, by his side, as he should have been, he wouldn’t have lost his face. Taking his mask off had been wonderful, really, but that didn’t mean Victor hadn’t disappointed him. Immeasurably. He got up gradually and considered his weapons. 

His first thought was a nail gun crucifixion. But it felt too brutal. Not quite right. Not for Victor. Someone else. He had time. Then he ran his hands over the knives. But Victor could definitely wrestle the knife from his hands. Then his mind was made. He walked back to the bed, no longer worried about being quiet, and hopped up in to Victor’s lap. Victor’s eyes snapped open, and he sat up, smacking in to Black Mask. Victor sighed. 

“You scared me Ro-  _ Black Mask,”  _ Victor said. He put his hands on Black Mask’s hips. “What do you need?” Victor couldn’t read his new face. Didn’t know his expression or intentions. Before Victor could move his hands were around his neck, so tight and roughly that he was able to weave his fingers together around it. For a moment, in shock, Victor tried to roll Black Mask off, and grasped his sides desperately. 

“You’ve disappointed me, Victor. You  _ let  _ this happen to me,” he hissed. His voice was raspier, likely due to his emergency self-tracheotomy. Victor struggled, air quickly being taken from him. Then, despite nature and despite the damn near inescapable reactions of the human body, Victor flopped back. He stopped struggling. Black Mask had never known loyalty like Victor’s, his willingness to let go and let Black Mask  _ kill  _ him if he wanted. Victor could control every aspect of himself for Black Mask. He just clutched Victor’s throat tighter, and moved close to him. Victor kissed him. Roman wouldn’t be able to believe it, wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But Roman Sionis was dead. Soon Victor would join him. Black Mask crushed Victor’s throat as hard as he possibly could. It was over in an instant. He still clutched tightly to Victor’s neck. That was what took so long. His hands to relax and release his dead lover’s throat. He hadn’t begged. Hadn’t struggled. Black Mask pressed his ‘lips’ to Victor’s one last time. Then decided he wanted his face. 

It was Victor then. It was impressive that he had managed to disfigure Victor enough that he hadn’t instantly recognized him. He figured out what it had been. He had been determined to keep his face perfect, and in order to do that he had to remove a large portion of his head. No one else’s face had mattered that much to him. Black Mask wondered for a moment where he had put Victor’s face, but decided he could find it later. He settled back in to bed. Oh yes, Roman Sionis would panic or cry or rage about the state of his sheets, and especially about the state of his favored killer. Fortunately he didn’t have to be Roman Sionis anymore. That was why when tears dripped down his face it confused him. He ran a hand over Victor’s chest. He supposed he had really cared for Victor. Unfortunate. 


End file.
